


The Course of Forgiveness

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family Feels, Forgiveness, Gen, background oliver/percy, much needed emotional healing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 06:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: After the war, each of Percy's family members find different ways to tell him that all can be mended.





	The Course of Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Last year about this time, I wrote Love Is... which was 250-word scenes depicting how Percy loves his siblings. This year--for Percy’s birthday, I wanted to revisit the concept, but this time show how Percy’s siblings (and his parents!) love him...and we’ve upgraded to 500 words a scene!

“I’m sorry.” 

Percy thinks, at first, that he must have misheard. Dad has nothing to apologize for. It had been Percy’s fault, from beginning to end. His selfishness, his ingratitude, his pride...they’d cost Percy his family for three years. Sometimes he wonders if they’ve cost him some part of forever, as well. 

There are words Percy can never take back, words Percy will never quite believe Dad has forgiven him for saying. Spoiled Christmases and missed hospital visits and dozens of uncomfortable encounters in elevators...how can Percy ever untangle all of that, make that weight between them disappear? 

“I don’t see why...you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, fidgeting with the cuffs of his robes. They haven’t talked much, since the Battle. Mourning has taken up residence in every spare inch of the Burrow, and grief has stoppered most conversations. 

Dad sits down beside him on the sofa. “Someday, you might have a child, and then you may not be so understanding.” 

Percy shakes his head, avoiding Dad’s intent gaze. 

“It’s true. You feel grateful because you’re young.” Dad’s sad smile doesn’t waver, though the fingers of his right hand trace patterns into the cushion beside him. “Eventually, you’ll grow up and realize that I should have known better. And if I’m not honest about that now, if I let you believe something else--”

“--whatever mistakes you might have made, mine were worse,” Percy insists, unwilling to indulge the resentment that had led him astray in the first place. 

Dad closes his eyes before speaking. 

“Let me tell you what I wish,” he says, and there’s a softness in his voice that pulls Percy back to a time when Dad would sit on the grass with him, pointing out patterns in the stars. 

“I wish I’d had the courage, the humility, to talk with you,” he continues. 

Dad had given Percy an astronomy book for his seventh birthday, and he’d pretended not to know every fact Percy told him over breakfast after reading it twice over. 

“I look at you, and I see how you’ve grown, and I’m so proud.” There’s something ragged in his voice, now. “But I don’t have any right to be proud, do I? I have no part in what you’ve accomplished. I never tried to be a part of it. Not even once.” 

Dad had read the book with him by the light of the moon, tracing the stars on the pages where Percy couldn’t see the patterns quite yet. 

None of his brothers looked at the stars, and neither did Mum or Ginny. When the house got too noisy, when Dad spent ages teaching Ron how to tie his shoes or talking to Bill about his History of Magic essay, Percy held onto the stars. They’d always come out eventually, and they’d always signal that some of Dad’s time belonged to Percy. 

“I wish I could say that I helped you when you needed it. Can you understand that?”

Percy can. 

* * *

  
  


Percy watches Oliver disapparate, his fingers tightening around the doorframe. He turns back to look at Mum, but she’s already slipped off to the kitchen. Mortified, Percy suspects, at finding her son snogging his old roommate in the sitting room. 

He follows her to the kitchen, where she stands at the head of the table, shuffling the morning’s newspaper back together. 

“I’m so sorry, Mum, I didn’t think...I certainly didn’t bring him here anticipating that would happen, I would never--”

“--it’s quite alright, dear…” Mum says, though there’s a distinct flush in her cheeks, and she nearly drops the sports section the moment she picks it up. “I’ve all adult children now; it’s time I get used to it. Well, Ginny still has a month to go, but you tell her that and see how she takes it.”

“All the same…” Percy makes quick work of the various mugs and glasses on the table, depositing them in the sink. “I know you have--well, you have beliefs about certain things, and I don’t mean to disrespect them while I’m staying here.”

Mum’s eyes narrow as she crosses over to the cabinets. “I don’t have any beliefs about adults...engaging with each other. Opinions, perhaps…”

Percy reaches up to the top shelf for her, procuring a large silver pot. 

“A few,” he says, attempting a smile. 

“But opinions or no...what are you supposed to do?” Molly sets the pot atop of the stove. “I remember how it was for my brother. He’d have married Robert, I’m sure of it. But it’s not done. It should be, but it isn’t.”

Percy can hardly remember his Uncle Gideon, but he remembers Robert well. Mum had invited him to everything, long after Gideon’s death. He is family, she says. 

“--and you know I can be traditional about these things, I suppose,” his mother continues, rifling through the pantry. “But I don’t see the point in asking people to pretend they don’t feel certain...well, we all have to  _ live _ , don’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Percy says, taking the tomatoes his mother hands off to him. She stops and smiles at him, her own arms balancing an array of vegetables. 

“He was sweet as anything, after the battle,” she says. “I noticed that.”

“He’s wonderful,” Percy says, thinking fondly of how easy it’s been talking to Oliver, since the war ended. Much easier than anything else in his life at the moment. 

“Just remember,” Mum says, dropping the vegetables on the countertop. “You don’t always have to think the other person hangs the moon. You  _ won’t _ , after a while; I don’t care how romantic it all seems at the start. But--if things go right, if you work at it--you’ll always trust that they’d try, if it came to it.” 

She takes out two cutting boards, placing carrots on one and tomatoes on the other. She hands Percy a knife and pushes a cutting board towards him. 

“A smaller dice for those tomatoes, I think…”

* * *

  
Percy has always been welcomed at Shell Cottage. Bill asks him over for dinner a few times a month, and Fleur has shown him enough pictures from the wedding that Percy half believes he was there, after all. 

Still, a part of Percy wonders how their first child will change things between him and Bill. It’s one thing to forgive your brother. But to decide that brother is a good influence on your child? That’s something else entirely, and Percy wonders if he’s done enough to reassure Bill. 

But Bill sends him a note, same as everyone else, informing him of Victoire’s birth and that Fleur is doing “splendidly.” 

Percy waits a day before stopping by, clutching a pale yellow bag in his hands. Bill grabs a hold of him before he’s even entered the house, holding him tight and beaming. 

“She’s right upstairs,” he says, waving Percy through the chattering group of Delacours in the sitting room. 

“It’s the most amazing thing in the whole world,” Bill says, entirely unprompted. “I want to give you all babies so you can understand...Charlie said I’d have to kill him first...thank Merlin you’ve shown up, you’ll be a better sport about it all…”

Fleur holds Victoire with pride, beaming at Percy as she presses him to hold her. 

“I’ll take that,” Bill says, taking Percy’s bag. “Is this for the baby?”

Percy--who has half forgotten what the present is--nods as Fleur places Victoire in his arms. 

She might be the tiniest baby he’s ever seen. Or perhaps he only thinks that because he loves her the most. She stares at him with wide, dark eyes, yawning every so often. 

“She’s beautiful,” he says. Hardly a controversial statement with the given audience. 

“Bill!” Fleur says, stopping Bill from ransacking Percy’s gift. “Let Percy show her what it is!”

She sits up, taking Victoire from Percy and holding her so she has a sightline to Percy. Percy, feeling silly, unveils the contents of the present: a starry night crib mobile, one that changes with the night sky. 

“It shines a bit, at night,” he explains to Bill, who is inspecting it as though it might be booby-trapped. “Nothing bright or flashy, of course--some of these mobiles are past absurdity at this point--but I thought this one gave quite a nice effect.”

Bill nods, still turning it in hand. Percy wonders if he shouldn’t have just bought a hat or a stuffed dragon like everyone else. They probably had their own mobile already...or perhaps they’d read somewhere that you shouldn’t use a mobile...

“I have the receipt, if you--”

“--oh, shut it, Perce.” Bill grins at him. “It’s brilliant, and you know it. Where did you even find something like this?”

“I have a friend who knows a woman in Madrid who makes them herself.” 

“Of course you do…” Bill holds the mobile out, studying the effect. “That’s wonderful, that is.”

“Well, I’m glad--”

“--you want to help me put it up?”

* * *

  
  


“I’m thinking of moving back,” Charlie says, pulling his left leg onto his lap, staring up at the trees shading them from the sun. He rubs the back of his neck, turning to Percy. 

“Mum will be pleased.” Percy still isn’t sure why Charlie has taken him on a hike. He’d muttered something about catching up, as if they haven’t seen each other more in the past few months than they had in the five years before that. 

Thus far, they’ve done little more than discuss the weather and England’s tragic performance at their first post-war scrimmage. However, ever since they’ve stopped for a rest and a drink of water, Percy can read the anticipation on Charlie’s face. 

“Well, I’ll probably still be up north, some. But it’s closer than Romania, isn’t it?” 

His good-natured grin is enough to turn up Percy’s lips at the corners. They soon fall back into silence. In the distance, Percy can hear the rush of water--that must be the elusive creek Charlie’s been on about since they started walking. Its babble provides a welcome disruption of the stillness around them. 

Charlie’s always loved that kind of natural quiet, ever since they were small. Percy finds it unsettling. If people were meant to be still, they’d be trees. 

“You know Mum and Dad asked me to come back to England when the war started?” Charlie finally says, after clearing his throat. He pulls his left leg even closer to his torso. “They kept asking, and I kept making excuses.” 

“Oh?” Percy says, only vaguely interested.

“I said it was because Dumbledore needed me to keep on with my work abroad, but honestly? I wanted the space away. You remember how it was when I was back for the World Cup? I thought, there’s no way I’m doing that every day.”

He laughs, but there’s something hollow in it. He rubs his left ankle with calloused hands, looking suddenly pensive. 

“I was gone almost as much as you…probably for some of the same reasons…and no one thought anything of it.” 

“What I did was completely different,” Percy mutters, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. 

“Well, it was and it wasn’t, you know?” Charlie says. “There’s worse ways of pushing people out...but it all comes to the same when you realize you hardly took the time to know your brother before he died.” 

The creek could be just in front of their feet, for how loud it now roars in Percy’s ears. 

“I don’t want you to think you’re the only one who has anything to regret,” Charlie says before standing and stretching his arms to the sky. “It’s bad enough without feeling like you’re alone in it.”

When Charlie moves, he picks a place next to the water. When Percy comes to visit, they stand at the water’s edge, feet wet up to their ankles. Sometimes the words come easily; sometimes they don’t. In either case, the water fills the spaces their words can’t. 

* * *

  
“I’m sorry I’m late, Minister,” Percy says, stumbling into the office three minutes before eight o’clock. “I met Ernie Macmillan in the elevator--he’s the new hire in Transportation, you know--quite a character, positively talked my ear off…”

  
“I like Macmillan,” Minister Shackebolt says. “I hope you don’t mind, Percy: I’ve asked Marcy Remington to sit in for notes with the French delegates today. I thought you’d want the afternoon off.”

Percy frowns. “Off? I didn’t request--”

Minister Shacklebolt smiles. 

“There’s a package for you. I put it next to your in-tray.” 

The vibrant orange, purple, and green box hadn’t really needed an introduction. Percy opens the letter sitting atop of it, breaking the seal emblazoned with three W’s.   
  


_ To Whom It May Concern (that’s you): _

_ Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes is celebrating its grand reopening TODAY. To mark the occasion, WWW is sending out promotional merchandise boxes to individuals who—for whatever reason—might not have gotten around to the store front last time. _

_ Recipients of the aforementioned promotional box may also take this letter to our Diagon Alley location and present it to one of our cashiers for an additional 30% off any WWW purchase.  _

_ We look forward to your visit!  _

_ —George Weasley, Co-Founder of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes _  
  


Percy opens the box with no small amount of trepidation. George means well, he thinks; however, there’s an infamous overlap between what George finds well-meaning and Percy finds exhausting (and vice-versa, he can now admit). 

To his great surprise, the box contains no biting teacups, no whizzes or bangs or foul smells. Instead, he unpacks a set of Quipping Quills, each charmed with its own brand of wit, all of them self-inking and self-writing. Daydream Charms, a set of Muggle magic tricks, and a sample of a Mood Ink prototype (“know when your coworkers are seeing red!”) round out the box. 

So Percy takes the afternoon, folding up the letter from George and placing it in the front pocket of his robes. 

The shop at Diagon Alley is overflowing with customers, none of whom seem bothered by the crowding. A young woman wearing a purple vest is standing at the door, eyeing the pockets of people leaving. 

“George!” she calls out as Percy approaches. “It’s one of your lot!” 

George, who is hovering by the registers and handing out Ton-Tongue Toffees, lights up with a grin. He pushes through the crowd, still handing out sweets. Percy doesn’t have a chance to speak before George has his arms around him, clapping him warmly on the back. 

“I didn’t expect you until five, at least!” he says, beaming as he pulls away. “You liked the box, then?”

“I did, very much. The charm work on the quills is terribly clever, I can’t figure out how you’ve managed it.”

The paleness still hasn’t left George’s face. Perhaps it never will. 

“They say you’ve made it when you win over your harshest critic…” he says with a laugh. 

He stops Percy’s protests with a hand. 

“Only a joke, Perce.” 

* * *

Percy rifles through his closet, handing off various dress robes to Ron. 

“Now, I personally think a deep color looks sharp without drawing too much attention...but of course, you’ll always have those who think anything other than black at a formal event is sacrilege....”

Ron drops the armful of options onto Percy’s bed, shifting through them. He’s forgotten to buy dress robes for the official presentation of his Order of Merlin, and the robes he wore to Bill’s wedding are already two inches too short. 

If he doesn’t stop growing, he’ll be taller than Percy by end of next year. For now, however, they’re the same height, and Ron’s tentative inquiry on whether Percy might have something he could borrow has led to a full-on showing. 

“Do you only have the three quarter sleeves?” Ron asks. Percy stops in his tracks, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s wrong with three quarters?”

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Ron says, looking alarmed. “Just not my style, is all.” 

Percy nods, returning back to his closet search. 

“Here...this is full length,” he says, pulling out a set of burgundy robes. “These as well…”

Ron drops the burgundy ones rather quickly, but he investigates both the navy and chestnut ones with interest. 

“Blimey,” he says as Percy sets down a set of midnight blue robes. “Do you spend money on anything else?”

“Not really, no,” Percy says, squinting as he gives the rack one last look. “That’s it for full length sleeves…”

“These are nice, actually,” Ron says, holding the navy ones out. Percy smiles. 

“You like the collar? I thought the detailing was smart. You can have them, if you’d like.”

Ron’s cheeks go red, and he opens his mouth as if to reject Percy’s offer. Then, looking still redder, he closes his mouth, dusting off an invisible speck on the left shoulder of the dress robes.

“Thanks, Perce,” he says in a low voice. 

“Don’t mention it,” Percy says, organizing the rest of the dress robes into piles. “It’s fortunate we’re the same size. I don’t know where you’d find anything this time of year..”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. He half turns to leave before saying: 

“What’re you wearing, then?”

Percy frowns, turning to the piles on his bed. 

“Is eggplant too- _ too  _ much, do you think?”

“I dunno,” Ron says after a beat, looking unenthused. 

Percy bites his lip, flipping through the piles. “I could always just wear black…”

“We’ve had enough of that, I reckon.” Ron steps forward, joining Percy’s search. 

“What about these steel blue ones?” he asks, and Percy stares at him, dumbfounded. 

“Did you just say  _ steel blue _ ?” He reaches out for the robes, and Ron shoves them into his hands, looking affronted. 

“I know colors, Percy...Merlin…” he shakes his head, reorganizing the pile of robes in front of him. 

“I haven’t worn these in ages…” Percy holds them out, turning to Ron. “You’re sure?”

Ron shrugs. “I like them.”

Percy surveys them once more before smiling. 

“I do, too.” 

* * *

  
The cold air has turned the rain into sleet, and Percy and Ginny clutch their butterbeers in freezing hands. Ginny has been apologizing since meeting him in Hogsmeade, as if its her fault the weather is sour today. Percy doesn’t know how to tell her that the weather can do what it wants--he’s still reeling from the fact that she’s asked him to come and see her. 

The letters started in late September, and Percy has been so sure, every time, that he’ll say something wrong and she’ll stop sending them. She’d been distant all summer, though never unkind. He didn’t blame her then, and he doesn’t blame her now. 

The discomfort between them hasn’t disappeared, but he’s surer of his footing than he was a few weeks ago. 

“Are you doing alright?” Ginny asks, taking a sip of butterbeer. 

“Oh, I’m quite well,” Percy says quickly. “Quite well. Things are really settling in with the new administration--”

“--I don’t mean work, Perce,” Ginny says, leaning forward. “How are _ you _ ?”

Percy blinks. “I’m fine.”

Ginny doesn’t look convinced, but she sits back in her chair. 

“Mum said you might be looking at flats soon.” 

“Well, it’s about that time…” Percy says. “George is half moved back above the shop now, and Ron is off with Harry in that horror show of a flat…”

He shudders, and Ginny gives a half-hearted laugh. 

“I’d wait until after Christmas to move, or Mum might lose it,” she says. 

“Yes,” Percy agrees, though privately he wonders if an after-Christmas move will go any better. “That’s true.”

“Christmas is going to be the worst…” Ginny sighs. “At least we’ll be miserable together. Even Charlie actually promised to show up. And if he breaks his promise...well, I’m seventeen now, so there’s no telling what might happen…”

She grins, and it’s astonishing how easily the anxiety in her face vanishes. 

“I heard you won your first match,” he says, deftly changing the subject. It’s not so easy for him to scramble back out of difficult emotions. 

“Yeah, well Slytherin’s a pushover this year,” Ginny says, shrugging. “Probably because half their parents are in prison now--”

“--Ginny!” Percy looks about the pub, as if the team might be within earshot. 

“Well, it’s true…” Ginny laughs. “And I don’t feel sorry for them, either. Well, maybe Candace Lockshock...but only because Luna said she’s alright. She’s a bloody good Keeper, too…but seriously, Perce: you’re okay?”

“Why do you keep asking me that? I told you, I’m--”

“--fine, I know.” She takes a deep sip of butterbeer. “I just wanted to make sure. You’re like me, you know? It’s like pulling teeth. But someone has to do it, you know? Or else all the bad stuff just sits there, and it keeps getting worse...and I don’t want it to get worse.”

Percy nods, unsure of how to respond. 

“It’s just slow, sometimes,” he finally says, looking down. Ginny nods, looking satisfied with the answer. 

“I get that.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
